You always find the best players and coaches in the bleachers. They know all of the right plays and the sharpest moves. They can tell you who should have been traded or kept and can rapidly recite a litany of blunders going back to the Twenties and beyond. They're especially ready to recall maddening mistakes they've been forced to endure while watching games or listening to sports radio.
The players on the field, those schmoes, are unaware of their own good fortune. They are second-stringers up against second-stringers. A few feet away, sipping beer and shouting directions, are the true giants of the game.
One can imagine the excitement and fear which would engulf the stadium if, like Neptune emerging from the ocean, the gods of the bleachers began to take the field. Although their talent might be disguised by a deceptively pudgy appearance, every spectator there would quickly see through the ruse.
What a day that would be. I'd gladly pay to see it.
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